Substitution
by yumi michiyo
Summary: "Sometimes, when two messed up people meet, it's like they're two puzzle pieces that go together perfectly and fill up the wounds in the other and it's beautiful, but sometimes, that doesn't happen." In which Elsa and Hans build an illusion together, for each other. Elsa/Hans, Elsa/Anna, Hans/Anna. Rated a hard M for explicit sexual content, dub-con, incest, violence, and language.


**Author's Notes: **Originally written for the following prompt from LJ Disney Kink and posted to my AO3:

"A slightly abusive one shot, or two shot if that's your thing, please.

Elsa's messed up and she knows it, but she's accepting it and dealing with it. Hans is also messed up. Sometimes, when two messed up people meet, it's like they're two puzzle pieces that go together perfectly and fill up the wounds in the other and it's beautiful, but sometimes, that doesn't happen. They hurt each other more.

AU if you need to, I'd just really love some realistically slightly abusive Hans/Elsa.

Bonus points if there's creepy dirty talk on both ends about respective siblings. Not required, but bonus."

This is the rewritten version (and vastly better one in my opinion), but you can still find the link to the original on my profile page.

* * *

Elsa visits the servants' quarters regularly these days. There's a private room set apart from the rest, meant for a special prisoner; a prince-turned-servant, and its occupant is waiting for her.

He merely glances up at her with hooded eyes, his expression hungry.

"Anna," he says by way of greeting.

Elsa's hands smooth over his hair and pull him closer, so she can kiss him. "_Anna_," she whispers as her icy fingers slipslide over the collar of his shirt.

A rough low chuckle. His hands span her hips and brush her inner thighs, making her gasp with his boldness; heated tongues taste equally heated skin.

They don't waste time (even when there isn't anything they're waiting for).

* * *

She's always been different. _Born with ice powers_, her parents said. But Elsa knows she's more than just _different_; she's ice on the inside as well. She doesn't know how to love someone the way Anna does; all warmth and light and happiness, like the way Anna makes her feel.

If she tries hard enough, she can pretend Anna's warmth is melting her ice and making her the same as everyone else. Fixing her, for lack of a better word.

But she can't, because she doesn't deserve it. She's had her chance, long ago.

She was shut away because she can't touch or love Anna, without hurting Anna. Now, as an adult, it hardly matters if Elsa doesn't freeze everything she touches – it dies anyway.

It takes time for Elsa to realise her love for Anna is as _different_ as she is; sick, twisted, and wrong. She doesn't mind now, though; Anna doesn't have to suffer with her. She's safe with Kristoff.

The door is open, the gloves are gone, and she doesn't have to conceal it. Elsa is happy with just this much. She can pretend she isn't broken.

* * *

A product of his environment. Neglected, abused, stunted. A weakling, the runt of thirteen strapping young princes. Born with bad humours and bad blood – Hans has heard it all bantered through Europe's nobility as gossip filtered down to his prison.

He wonders if it's because they haven't anything better to talk about, or the idea of someone being fundamentally _wrong _is too difficult to accept.

Growing up in a noble house unflatteringly compared to rabbits isn't easy. It's harder if you're the youngest of the lot, subject to the twisted compulsions of the older twelve _strapping young princes_, behind closed doors and safely away from prying eyes. He's experienced a lot of things he's aware isn't appropriate for polite company – or any company, for that matter.

_Broken_.

Hans thinks it's a poor choice of a word. Not _broken_, because _broken_ would imply he needs to be fixed. Born different, made different; it doesn't matter. He's just different.

* * *

_A fitting punishment_, they called it. The Southern Isles laid down their justice, and he returned to Arendelle as a servant.

Anna's beside herself in indignant fury, and Elsa's about to add her protests to the uproar – when she see the dark look Hans shoots at Anna when she's not looking.

She recognizes that look, knows what it means; it's the shadow of desire denied, and longing unfulfilled – she's spent sleepless nights and painful days toying with those thoughts, when she hates herself all over again for being so damned _different _–

So she makes her choice.

And much to everyone's surprise, Elsa voices her approval of the punishment, overrules all objections, and sends the servants to prepare a private room – the meanest concession she'll grant for a fallen prince.

Hans glances up and meets her eyes for the first time since his return. Elsa doesn't flinch from his searching gaze.

Kristoff takes a spluttering Anna away, and for the first time in forever, Elsa doesn't watch her sister leave.

She's too busy looking forward to being a monster.

* * *

His first night is spent in chains, because they don't trust him yet.

The door creaks open.

"Hans," she says.

He smiles. "Elsa," and the name trips off smooth lips. She licks her own unconsciously.

She's much too close, and a pulse of excitement surges through his body. He doesn't have to ask what she isn't telling him.

Elsa kisses like she walks; masterfully, confidently, in full control of the situation. He wouldn't call himself an inexperienced youth, but he's hard-pressed to keep up with her, and he finds it exciting. Hans is glad she isn't a man, like his brothers. She won't expect him to bend over and play nice, and she _even has freckles_.

He tries to worship each one – he's missed his chance the first time around.

Hands fumble inelegantly with clothing.

She makes a pleased sound to see his own freckles, scattered over tanned, healthy skin – they taste of sunlight and heat.

Lips are everywhere, all at once.

He marvels at her soft body and shapely limbs. So unlike the gangly youths and sturdy grown men his brothers are.

Teeth graze skin, catch on bone.

She hesitates when her hands brush his manhood, but the hiss of pleasure she elicits from him is spurs her on.

They've fallen this far.

He takes her hard enough to feel her scream into his shoulder, her nails digging into his flesh. When he orgasms after her, he responds in kind; face pressed to her soft neck, he gasps out his pleasure, marring her white skin with ugly bruises.

"I knew you liked it rough," he smirks in between pants, "_Anna_."

Her blue eyes widen. "I don't – "

"I heard you." Hans leans in close, touching the vivid red teethmarks on his shoulder. "You carved her name here, and all over my body." Hot breath ghosts over her ear and makes her shudder. "You filthy little slut."

"I – " Elsa's panicking, and she's terrified, and she _can't breathe_ –

"You truly _are_ a monster – like me." He's almost gentle as he gathers her into his lap, his long fingers stroking her hair. "My _Anna_."

Her body stiffens. Elsa raises her head to meet his gaze – and sees the predatory darkness there she knows is mirrored in her own, even as his lips tease the sensitive skin of her neck. She swallows hard, fighting a spasm of arousal.

"Poor little Elsa," croons Hans. His hand traces languorous lines down the curve of her shoulders; she, who's never cold, shivers. "How long have you been hiding that particular – _curse_?"

"Please," she rasps. Elsa's looking at herself, her naked desire, and it's all she can do not to retch in disgust.

And abruptly he lets go, practically shoving her away from him. "Get out," he snarls, and Elsa sees his eyes are still unfocused. She can't help it; she licks her lips, and watches as his eyes are drawn to her movements.

She leaves as soon as she's able to walk, without uttering a single word. But Elsa doesn't go away defeated; she knows what's on his mind, even if he'll never say it. She knows what she saw in those hooded green eyes.

If she hadn't panicked at the sound of her own shame, she would have remembered his.

_Anna._

She may be a monster, but _he's_ the only monster she can bear to look at.

* * *

Her next visit happens by chance; he's polishing some old silverware when she appears behind him. She's dressed simply, and he thinks she looks beautiful.

"Feeling lonely?" he sneers. He's seen the peasant boy – Royal Ice Master, indeed – with Anna, and it made his stomach turn. Hans can only imagine what she's feeling.

Elsa spares a cursory glance for their surroundings before wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes; it's easier that way. "Shut up," she grinds out, and forces her mouth on his, her iron grip wordlessly demanding his submission. Large warm hands caress her body (in a way she knows delicate, slender Anna never will), but it's better than nothing.

He's warm and solid and _good enough for her_.

_She's planned this_, he manages to think before lust takes over. When he returns her kiss, it's equally as forceful; she gasps against his tongue, digs her nails in, sucks hard on his lower lip. _At least I can hurt him_, she thinks, as her teeth scrape down the livid skin of his neck.

She loves his hair. Elsa's nails rake his scalp, her fingers searching for purchase (in auburn braids that aren't there). Even if he smells all wrong, blood tastes all the same to her, and she latches on to the shell of his ear, her tongue teasing, coaxing.

Hans grunts. He pushes her against the wall, his hands already stealing up her dress so she can wrap her legs around his waist. It's a lot easier for him to see her; he narrows his eyes, and in the half-light platinum-blonde darkens to auburn.

His hands are free. He chooses to tangle long fingers in her braid, pulling and tugging. Freckles pepper her bared chest, and he kisses each one (even the ones that aren't there); she throws her head back, inviting his attention.

"Take me," Elsa commands breathlessly. He's more than happy to comply. He thrusts into her with an urgency that leaves her gasping, her nails scratching hard enough to bleed. He marks snow-white skin with purpling fingerprints and leaves bitemarks over her chest and neck. "Anna," he growls, jerking up into her relentlessly. "_Anna_."

She likes it when he's rough, pouring out his hate and his love into her body.

When he drops to his knees, Elsa hums her approval, and fists her hands in his hair; partly to hold him in place, and partly to steady her shaking legs. "Anna," she gasps as he drags his tongue over her clit, suckling even as his fingers are pumping in and out. "_Anna_." Her fingers tangle in his auburn hair (it's shorter than it should be, but she doesn't care), yanking it painfully as she comes, body arching into his.

When they've both been satiated, the charade comes to a shuddering halt. She doesn't linger; his body isn't soft curves and gentle warmth and she'll have none of it.

He, similarly, isn't in the habit of keeping things after they've outlived their usefulness.

"Until next time," he remarks coolly, pulling up his trousers and adjusting his shirt.

Elsa nods curtly, and adjusts her own clothing. "When I have need of you," she says, and enjoys the slow burn in his eyes.

* * *

Right after the news spreads that the peasant boy's proposed to Princess Anna, and she joyfully accepted his proposal, Hans stays in his room to wait for her.

He isn't overly affected (he doesn't think much of the sanctity of marriage). But he still wants her.

She bursts into his room like a blizzard, all cold tears and howling anger. Hans gasps involuntarily as ice grips his torso, the cold branding his skin. She relents eventually; he falls to his knees as the ice recedes, and lets her soothe frostbitten flesh with her very warm tongue.

In return, he seizes her face in his hands, crushes his lips to hers. He writes his feelings with his mouth on her skin. He's careless with the bruises he leaves over her body, marking her with his anger, his frustration, his despair. "Anna," he begs. His teeth leave warm blood on cold skin.

Her tears freeze on his skin, and her touch leaves frost. Her nails paint the ice red. "Anna," she sobs.

* * *

Anna seeks her out in her study not long after her engagement.

"Why didn't you tell me about you and him?" she asks without preamble, as blunt as always, but there's an undertone to her voice that makes Elsa look up. One glance at her flushed face and she knows she doesn't need to ask what Anna's talking about.

Elsa takes a steadying breath. "Anna. I – "

"Why are you doing this? He can't be trusted. He tried to kill you. He lied to me, to us, and you're – you're... God, Elsa, I just don't understand why you're doing this."

She dodges the obvious question. "His crimes have no bearing on the... _arrangement,_ that he and I have," said Elsa calmly.

Hurt flashes in Anna's eyes; she feels guilt for a fleeting moment. "What are you trying to say, Elsa?"

"You don't understand, Anna."

"Then _make_ me understand. Please. Don't shut me out again, Elsa, I –"

The queen stands up suddenly. "Anna, I can't. I don't want to hurt you – "

" – you can't hurt me any more than you already have!" Anna blurts out, and then claps both hands to her mouth.

Silence, punctuated by the crackle of things freezing.

"Perhaps," replies Elsa eventually. It's possibly the worst thing she could have said, because suddenly Anna's too close, and her hands are on Elsa's wrists, preventing her from fleeing (because that's always her first instinct). The queen's throat tightens.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just – "

Elsa shakes her head. "I know. Anna, I should be the one to apologize. You're right; I should have told you everything from the beginning, but I just wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

The whine of panic is starting again, and she fears she's losing control. "Myself," she whispers, and she's struck by how vulnerable she sounds.

The younger girl stares, completely taken aback for a moment, before it dawns on her. "Elsa. You won't hurt me, because I love you. No matter what you do or say, no matter what happens," says Anna firmly, her eyes boring into her sister's.

"I know."

Anna's embrace is warm. "So please."

And Elsa would, if her heart hadn't been beating so hard, and her thoughts filled with _Anna Anna Anna_; but the instinct to _protect Anna_ supersedes all.

"No," she says, exercising her big sister's rights. Elsa's proud her voice doesn't quaver.

She looks confused, upset. "You don't have to protect me! I'm not afraid!"

"And _that_," says Elsa softly, "is what _I'm_ afraid of."

* * *

Hans is mucking out the stables (he swears the castle staff know exactly what he hates) when a hand seizes him by the collar.

He's pressed to the stable wall and is about to defend himself, when he notices the very familiar pair of teal eyes.

"Anna?"

"What have you done to Elsa?" she demands. An equally familiar fist hovers under his chin.

"I've done nothing."

"Stop lying. I know exactly what you two have been doing _together_," she says with just a hint of distaste, "and I've heard enough of your poison."

Hans snorts. "Look at me, Anna. I'm shovelling horse shit in your stables. Do I look like I'm doing anything?"

"I don't know. No one knows if you're telling the truth."

He has an inkling of why she's so angry, and he asks a loaded question: "Why don't you ask Elsa?"

"I already have!" growls Anna. "She won't tell me anything!"

Despite himself, Hans smirks. _Ah. Ever the protective older sister_. "I see."

Her rage and her proximity to him is strangely arousing, and he wonders if the sisters have ruined him for life, if he finds their anger this intoxicating. "I could give you a hint," he begins, "but you might not like it."

She doesn't hesitate. "_Tell me_."

His hands splay over her slender waist, pulling her in so he can kiss her hard (the peasant boy probably treats her like she's made of glass). He's thinking he was right not to kiss her the first time; the hardening of his manhood, the searing of his chest isn't love, but pure lust.

"Why tell you," he murmurs against her parted lips, "when I can _show_ you."

She's still for a heartbeat (as though she's frozen solid), but before he can press further, she pushes him away and slaps him.

"Bastard!" gasps Anna, "what –" and her chest's heaving with indignation (he can't stop staring at it), and it turns him on so fucking much because he likes it when Elsa's rough with him.

_Elsa? And not Anna?_ He's more fucked up than he thought.

Anna's face changes. Hans just smirks at her, and turning his back, returns to his duties.

* * *

Later that night, he's startled from his book by a visitor. "Elsa," he says, "it's late – "

She slaps him.

"What was that for?" he snaps, leaping to his feet, fighting the urge to hit her (he's still a prince in his breeding), even though he knows the answer.

"You kissed her," hisses Elsa. Her face is terrifying in her anger. He can't get enough of it.

His smile spreads across his face like the sunrise, but it has a darker edge to it that makes her breath catch. "Oh? Are you jealous, then?"

"Don't bring her into this."

"This – what, arrangement? _Affair_?" He's quietly triumphant. "Oh, Elsa. You know me better than that. I'm not a selfish man. In fact, I'm quite willing to share the experience with you. Would you like to know what it was like?"

"You b-bastard," she manages, but it's a choked whimper laced with her arousal.

Hans sidles behind her. "Her lips tasted like chocolate," he whispers into her ear, and feels her body shudder, "and they were soft, so soft." His hands are on her hips. She moulds herself to him. He prompts her forward, lays her down on his bed.

The firelight catches his hair and makes it glow auburn.

"Anna smells like sunshine." He's warm enough to melt her ice. She gasps as he looms over her, as one hand cups her mound, and he presses his face to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, _inhales_, and bites down.

She thinks he might still smell of her.

"So _warm_, and so _beautiful_." Elsa's breath comes in little choked gasps; her legs rub against each other in her desperation for release. His fingers brush her clit and she grinds herself into his palm. Her fingernails dig into his forearms.

His freckles are beautiful.

Hans kisses his way up her neck. Elsa doesn't realise she's been speaking aloud until he growls, "You're beautifuller, _Anna_," and that's what drives her over the edge and makes her come _hard_, hips jerking into his hand, crying out Anna's name. Her eyes flutter open, still dark with desire – _and shame_, he thinks – and Elsa lets out a sob.

"My poor _Elsa_," he says, delicately picking over the syllables of her name.

She's still crying as he yanks her dress up, fumbles with his trousers, and thrusts into her.

* * *

Anna corners her in her room the next night.

"Hans kissed me," she said, "and I think I know why now."

Elsa ignores the thumping of her heart. "Anna, what are you saying?"

She shrugs off the question. "It was all my fault from the beginning, Elsa. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally understand, but now I do."

Elsa looks away in a panic – but Anna's gentle hand is cupping her cheek, and the queen lets her sister guide her. "I _love_ you," says Anna in a shaky voice, and she leans in to press her lips to Elsa's.

It's everything Elsa's been dreaming of – and all her prayers are being answered – but she's awake, and she knows dreams don't come true, and prayers are just wishes that can't be granted.

She allows herself to respond _just this once_, because it must be a dream that she's kissing her sister like this. Elsa sucks on Anna's bottom lip, and she moans; she deepens the kiss, savouring her warmth –

But when she feels tentative fingers fumbling with her nightgown, Elsa breaks the kiss and catches Anna's wrists. "Anna, no," she says, taking her sister's shoulders. "Don't. I know what you're trying to do; I know you don't truly love me in _this_ way –"

"How do you know that for sure?" demands Anna, but she can't meet Elsa's eyes, and her voice trembles ever so slightly.

Elsa feels less _different _than ever before. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me," she begins, as gently as she can, "but you're in love with Kristoff. What you're forcing yourself to do with me is killing you inside. Love me like you've always loved me, Anna, and I can't ask for anything more."

"But you –"

"I was already born different. This is just another one of those ways in which I'm different. Wrong, even."

"N-no!" Tears spill from Anna's eyes, and Elsa wipes them away calmly. "Elsa, you're not _wrong_! I don't think –"

"And that's all that matters to me." Elsa can't believe she's having this conversation with her sister, and that she's turning Anna down; but she knows it's the right thing to do.

"I just want to make you happy."

"You already do."

* * *

Hans scowls. "Why didn't you take her up on her offer?"

"Why indeed," answers Elsa serenely.

"You would have everything you wanted."

"I love Anna too much for that."

"She's willing."

"She's willing to do anything for me. There's a difference."

He exhales sharply. "You'd give up everything you've ever wanted?"

"I don't expect you to understand."

"Damn right I don't." Hans gives a bitter laugh. "Can't imagine my brothers showing me anything like _love_." He stares deep into the fire. "All they did was use me for their twisted playtimes."

Elsa's hands slip around his waist. "Oh, _Hans_," she croons, in a passable imitation of his voice, "if only there was someone out there who loved you."

He has a response on the tip of his tongue, but it would be petty and needless, and frankly he's better off now than he ever was. Hans swallows the bitter pill, and he turns in her embrace to kiss her.

* * *

The wedding was lovely, and the castle's so quiet when Anna and Kristoff are away on their honeymoon.

Elsa lounges, like the queen she is, on her bed; she watches him like a predator with prey.

"You're a breakdown waiting to happen," he says, equally at ease with her.

She laughs. "Perhaps. And you're barely a man."

Hans shrugs. "Incomplete," he acknowledges.

Elsa reaches out, toys with his auburn ponytail; she made him grow it out (maybe he'll let her braid it). "Full of gaps. We should fill in the missing pieces, really; it's quite unhealthy."

He shook his head. "What's there to fill it with?" His fingers cup the smooth curve of her hip, and move to brush a smudge from her cheek. He admires the 'freckles' that bloom, reddish-purple, on her body, and relishes the fact she permitted him to put them there.

_Anna_, is what they think, but they don't say it.

She moves closer, presses a hand on his chest; he falls back obediently to await her pleasure. The she-wolf, hungry, rewards his submission with a kiss.

They're incomplete people; they could be searching for the other missing piece, waiting to be completed –

– but there's something sweeter than completion, and that's dysfunction. The incompatibility of pieces that don't belong together, but somehow fit.

_Somehow_.

* * *

**End Notes:** So I accidentally plot *shrugs* Joking aside, my understanding of the Hans/Elsa dynamic has changed and grown tremendously since I wrote this first fill, and I felt a rewrite was necessary to reflect that.


End file.
